“I wouldn’t mind redecorating,” I said. “Nick’s house could use a woman’s touch.”
Scarlet snorted. “That’s an understatement.”
“Your choice of words is very interesting,” Rosemarie said. “You just called it Nick’s house. Which means you don’t feel like it’s yours.”
I shrugged. “I guess you’re right,” I said. “It does feel like his house. When we were living together it wasn’t such a big deal because it was his house. But now that we’re married, it’s supposed to be our house, but it still just feels like his house. Does that make sense?”
“Of course,” Rosemarie said. “You just need to put your stamp on the place. That’s all. Knock down a few walls, paint a few rooms. Buy out Pottery Barn. You’ll feel better in no time.”
“I used to work in construction before I made cakes,” Suzanne said. “I’ll be glad to help with whatever you need.”
“Huh,” Scarlet said. “I can’t picture you on a construction site.”
“Back then I wore boots and people called me Barry,” she said. “I have a lot more fun now, and I get to eat as much cake as I want.”
“That’s what I want to do,” I said. “I want to have fun and eat cake. What kind of career will allow me to do that?”
“Didn’t you just have that career?” Suzanne asked. “If you liked being a PI then I don’t understand why you don’t just go and do that. You don’t need an agency. You could put out your own shingle. I might have a storefront you could lease in a couple of months.”
“As tempting as that is,” I said, “I told Nick I’d put that life behind me now that we’ve got a baby coming.” I felt my lip quiver. I did miss the thought of never being a private investigator again. I was good at my job. And after the wedding, everything had happened so fast I hadn’t really had time to let it sink in that the career I’d poured my heart and soul into the past couple of years was gone.
“Are you crying?” Suzanne asked.
“No,” I said, using my fuzzy vest to dry my tears.
“You’ll feel better after we hit up Pottery Barn,” Rosemarie said. “I always feel better when I spend money.”
An awful sound was coming from the couch, and Rosemarie put one of the silver pillows over Scarlet’s face to mute the snoring.
“That’s unnatural,” Suzanne said. “She’s a danger to society.”
“If you only knew,” I said.
“Well, do something,” Suzanne said. “This is the classy part of town. People are going to think they’re living by the railroad tracks.”
“She never sleeps long,” I said. “She ate a whole cake.”
“And two teacups of whiskey,” Rosemarie said. “I saw her take the flask out of her coat. No telling what she’s got in there.”
My cell phone rang and I knew it was my mother since I used the beginning of “Bohemian Rhapsody” as her ringtone. I debated on whether or not to answer it.
“It’s your mom,” Rosemarie said excitedly, recognizing the ringtone. “Put her on speaker so I can say hello. I haven’t seen her since the wedding.”
Come to think of it, I hadn’t heard from her since the wedding either. I figured she’d have texted at least a dozen times while we were on our honeymoon, but I hadn’t even gotten one phone call.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, answering. “You’re on speaker.”
“Good Lord,” my mother said. “Is that a wood chipper?”
“Close,” I said. “It’s Scarlet.”
Scarlet snorted at the mention of her name. “Wha—” she said, waving her arms. “Who’s there? Why’s it so dark in here?” Then the pillow toppled to the floor and she hissed like a vampire as the light hit her eyes.
“You’re kidding,” my mother said. “I thought she was on a cruise ship to Australia?”
“She burned it down,” I said.
“Just my luck,” my mother said.
Scarlet sat up and her Sharon Osbourne wig sat askew on her head. “Is that Phyllis?” Scarlet asked, narrowing her eyes. “Tell her we’re busy.”
“Ssh,” I said, hushing Scarlet. My mother and Scarlet had never gotten along, but I wasn’t sure when or why the rivalry had started.
“Phyllis,” Rosemarie said, breaking in before Scarlet could say anything else. “I drove by your house the other day, and I love the twinkle lights in the gazebo and the new pond. You should get some ducks.”
“I thought about it,” my mother said. “You can have up to six poultry in the city limits. They’d be real cute waddling around the yard.”
“And into the road,” I said, imagining a mama and baby ducks being run over by my mom’s neighbor’s Cadillac. “Edna would mow them down without remorse. I saw her hit a crow out of a tree once with a pellet gun like she was Annie Oakley.”
“She’s always been like that,” my mom said. “She’s an unpleasant woman. I think she killed her husband.”
I raised my brows at that nugget of information, but Mom didn’t expound. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“I need your help,” she said.
There was something in the tone of her voice that had me worried. She was upset, and I hadn’t noticed before. But the slight quiver in her voice was there.
“Sure,” I said. “Is everything all right?”
“I think Vince ran away with another woman, and I need you to find him and bring him home so I can kill him.”
Chapter Four
“OMG,” Suzanne said. “This is just like Real Housewives.”
Rosemarie, Suzanne, and Scarlet were all sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting to hear the sordid details.
“Who’s that?” my mother asked.
“My friend Suzanne,” I said. “She made the cakes at my wedding.”
“I could use a good cake about now,” my mother said. “But I’m all out of wine.”
“How do you know Vince left with another woman?” I asked, trying to keep her on topic.
“Because he’s been acting real sneaky ever since before your wedding. Spending lots of time on his computer in the study, and then he’d close his laptop if I came in.”
“Maybe he’s just got a porn addiction,” Rosemarie said. “Some people are real private about that stuff.”
“I wish it was as simple as that,” she said. “But then I started finding receipts in his pants pockets, and one was for a hotel down in Miami. We don’t know anyone in Miami. And then the other day I found a napkin in his pocket with the name Angelica on it and a phone number. I was going to confront him about it, but he made up this ridiculous song and dance about going fishing with his buddies at some cabin.” My mother burst into tears.
“And then he kissed me goodbye and acted like nothing was wrong at all. The no-good, lying, cheating son of a whore. Vince has never fished a day in his life. I want you to find out who this Angelica woman is. She’s probably young and beautiful. One of those Miami table dancers that looks like JLo, and knows how to twerk. I guess it’s no fun being married to a woman too close to your own age. Who wants to deal with menopause and age spots?”